


pull me from the earth

by liesmyth



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Hand Jobs, M/M, Other, Power Dynamics, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: He couldn’t manage to rise. He tripped, his centre of gravity slipping as his spine did, and his skin— his scales itched, and the deep laugh he heard rumbling above him was as warm as a pit of boiling sulphur, and just as welcoming.“They did a number on you darling, didn’t they? All for a pesky apple. No, don’t stand up,” Satan said, and Crawly stilled immediately. “It suits you.”
Relationships: Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme, Unhealthy Lucifer/Crowley fics





	pull me from the earth

The echoes of the Metatron’s curse resounded among the trees and fields of Eden, and Crawly shuddered under the rain, turning his face away from the blinding light filtering through the bushes. It was the same light as always, as it had been since God had called it into existence, but now it hurt his eyes as it never had before, and when his tongue darted out of his mouth he could taste the scents in the air, the bitter flavour of his own fear.

Typical, Crawly thought. You do your job and that’s what you get for it, cursed by an angelic ponce to… eat dust and strike at heels, whatever that was supposed to mean. He kept walking, defiantly, on two legs, even though his spine had never felt so _twisty_ before, and his skin itched distractingly with scales that hadn’t been there before.

Cʀᴀᴡʟʏ, a voice called, and he went still. He felt it vibrate through his body, touching spots inside of himself that he did his best not to think of. His wings itched, stinging like the day he’d been cast out of Heaven.

Tʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄʟᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ, Cʀᴀᴡʟʏ, the Boss said, and Crawly took a long breath and resumed walking, in the direction of the voice. If anything, Satan would lead him out of here.

He came to the tall wall he’d found so hard to get through the last time, now burst open by what looked like the aftermath of a ball of fire. God had forsaken this place and Eden was wilting all around them, and there was no reason for anyone to guard the bloody garden anymore.

There was a hole in the ground right outside the garden, and Crawly didn’t need to wonder where it led. It was small, the size of his human head, but before he had time to think about it he felt his body squeezing to fit through it, rippling as he changed shape. _Crawl on your belly and you will eat dust all the days of your life_ , _indeed_ , he thought, and he was shivering when he found himself on the other side, sputtering, curled in a heap of bendy limbs on the floor at the feet of Satan himself.

Tʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ, said Satan, pleasant, and Crawly scrambled immediately to rise.

He couldn’t manage it. He tripped, his centre of gravity slipping as his spine did, and his skin— his scales itched, and the deep laugh he heard rumbling above him was as warm as a pit of boiling sulphur, and just as welcoming.

Tʜᴇʏ ᴅɪᴅ ᴀ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ, ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ? Aʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴘᴇsᴋʏ ᴀᴘᴘʟᴇ. Nᴏ, ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ sᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴜᴘ, he said, and Crawly stilled immediately. Iᴛ sᴜɪᴛs ʏᴏᴜ.

He chanced a look. The boss was looking deceptively angelic today, tall and bright if one disregarded the blood-red eyes, and seemingly plenty amused with Crawly’s predicament. “Does it, lord?”

Iɴᴅᴇᴇᴅ. Fᴏʀᴍ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡs ғᴜɴᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴀʏ. Tᴜʀɴ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ, ɴᴏᴡ. Lᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ.

He shifted slowly on his useless limbs, feeling dangerously exposed. He might as well have said, _Show belly, darling_ , and Crawly would’ve complied just as eagerly because receiving that kind of attention from Satan was still so much better than the risks of the alternative. His head bobbed, strangely heavy on his neck, and his body felt on fire under that red-hot gaze, the hungry curve of Satan’s perfect lips.

Oʜ, ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ _ᴇʏᴇs?_ I ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ.

Large, warm hands covered his body, and Crawly shifted up into the touch. Sometimes those hands would have sharp talons, or horned ridges over the back, or be quite literally dripping in blood, and it was never a good idea to show hesitance even then. This was nothing. Satan’s touch was careful for once, as gentle as it’d been the very first time, an eternity ago before Hell or Earth, and it felt _good_ , teasing the hard scales over his skin, tracing the odd curves of Crawly’s misshapen limbs.

When he pulled back, Crawly whimpered.

Iɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛɪɴɢ, said Satan, clinically. Wᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪs, sʜᴀʟʟ ᴡᴇ?

“‘F you say so,” Crawly managed, a whisper. He trembled, enveloped in the too-hot warmth of Satan’s rumbling laugh, giving out a small yelp when those fingers closed sharply around the back of his neck.

I ᴅᴏ.

Crawly relaxed into the touch, letting himself be pinned down by his neck, all of him on display. He’d been wearing clothing at some point, remember the underbrush of Eden ripping at it with every step, and now he clearly wasn’t, and all he could do was roll with it. Satan’s tongue, long and rough, came out to lick at his lovely pink lips.

Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴏ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs, he mused. Yᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ Cʀᴀᴡʟʏ?

“Of course, lord,” he managed, a small whisper that left him breathless. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, a sharp contrast against his too-bright vision.

Satan’s other hand made its way down Crawly’s body, heavy and warm and surprisingly soft, skimming past his collarbones, his chest. It was large enough to envelop Crawly’s hips, if barely, and Crawly pushed up into the touch — he felt _flimsy_ , as he never had before, his body narrow and too-slight, and he wondered if Satan put something inside of him, his cock or his fist or something even worse, how hard Crawly would feel it. Perhaps it would rip him apart.

Instead the hand kept exploring him, methodically, rubbing at his smooth crotch, and there was something there, a slight indentation and a feeling like sparkles under the skin. Crawly moaned against the hand clasping his throat and shifted under the warm friction, relishing the smooth slide of hard scales against soft skin, the heat coiling right there, all that helpless, frustrating arousal and nowhere for it to go, until Satan’s large fingers pressed against him _just so_ , and something changed inside of him, giving way where there had been nothing before. A stiff new organ, jutting wet from his body, and Crawly twisted into the hold of Satan’s fingers, rubbing up into it. A cock? He craned his neck to look at it from behind the tight hold on his windpipe, and the sight left him stunned.

Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ, ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ? Satan’s fingers caressed from one of Crawly’s cocks to the other, pale and covered in small spikes, oddly-shaped like the rest of himself. They shone, wet with slick in the dim red light, pointing in opposite directions, and when Satan grabbed the both of them together Crawly whined at the sudden pressure, the sting of pain. It felt good.

Playing with Crawly’s cocks, idly, Satan whispered, I ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ.

There was something dangerous in that voice, the anticipation there, but for now he seemed content enough to jerk him idly, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the small barbs there, making him writhe and gasp and moan, thrusting helplessly into the touch while Satan looked down benevolently.

Yᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs, ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ, he said, pointedly, and Crawly began to nod, frantic, lest his lord thought he wasn’t properly grateful for the attention.

“Yes,” said Crawly, “yes, of course, it’s— I like it.” And he didn’t even have to pretend, not this time. His cocks were leaking steadily with a slick wetness that tasted acrid and pungent. He could smell it in the air, feel it on his tongue, and every gulp of air was a struggle against the hand at his neck, and all the more thrilling because of it.

“Please,” he said. He knew how this went. “Please, let me…”

Oғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ᴘᴇᴛ, the voice rumbled, satisfied. Kᴇᴇᴘ ᴀsᴋɪɴɢ ɴɪᴄᴇʟʏ. Yᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ I ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇ.

Well, that was certainly comforting. Crawly lay on his back, fighting for air, and there was something strange with his eyes, he couldn’t _blink_ , and everything was bright and sharp-smelling, and the devil’s hand was soft as feathers wrapped around his dripping cocks, his hold hot and tight and just the right side of painful.

“Please,” he said, again, shaking with terrible arousal. He pushed aimlessly into the touch, his odd new body writhing uselessly on the ground, and he couldn’t chase what he wanted, could do nothing but lay there and beg for it.

“Please, I’m… I need it, I—”

Yᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ, Satan echoed, like a caress. Yᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ɪᴛ, ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ? Aɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ sᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴛᴏʟᴅ, Cʀᴀᴡʟʏ. The syllables of his name wrapped around him like the coils of his tail in the garden, like the slow jerk of Satan’s fingers on his cocks.

Crawly turned his head, screwing his eyes shut, and sobbed as he was drained out, methodically, until he had nothing left to give. Nothing left of himself beside the restlessness of his new body, the maddening itching of his skin and his overwhelmed senses, and the hunger that rested terrible deep inside of him.

He shivered, thrashing weakly in Satan’s implacable hold. “Thank you,” he said, swallowing against the hand on his neck. “Thank you, I’m… that’s—” One did not say _Enough_ , not to the Lord of hell. The words died in his parched throat, and Satan’s hand did not stop.

Above him, Crawly caught a glimpse of full lips curved in an amused smile, a forked tongue sliding out to taste the air.

Nᴏᴡ sᴛᴀʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ sᴛɪʟʟ, ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ. Wᴇ’ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ʏᴇᴛ.


End file.
